Corner Coffee Shop
by Live720
Summary: After a five year battle for her life, it seems the odds have dealt Bella a different card. With daily trips to a coffee shop, see how her life intertwines with unsuspecting individuals on a journey of self-evaluation and new found love. AH B/E
1. Preface

_Preface_

_Some say that you can feel death before it arrives—like a premonition or an intuition. Regardless of how hard you try to ignore it, it won't disappear. It's not an obvious thing—not black and white or clear cut like night and day, rather it is vague and inconspicuous, making it all the more menacing and mysterious._

_I knew it was near--could feel it sinking into my skin and taking over my precious beating heart. My breathing was labored. My lungs weighed down from the exhaustion that consumed my entire being. I was ready for my battle to end, though I knew that he wasn't. The one person that made my life worth living was somehow the same person that made me ready to give into the pleas of my dying organs._

_With his hand in mine, his lips on my forehead--his love for me pouring out in his every kiss--and his consoling words assuring me that everything would be alright, I closed my eyes and slipped away._

_Where one life ends, another gets the chance to live._


	2. Beautiful Man

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, etc. All the characters in this story are the creations of the fabulous Stephenie Meyer.**

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_My name is Isabella Swan and I have Leukemia._

_I love to write, but I'm not a writer._

_I love to draw, but I'm not an artist._

_I have cancer, but I'm not a patient._

_My disease does not define who I am._

_I'm Bella and I'm going to die soon._

_But not before I learn how to live first._

_

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**Chapter 1: Beautiful Man**

_Ninety days_. I circled the 21st of May on my calendar in bright red marker, and smiled a goofy grin larger than life itself. It had been ninety _long_ days since my last chemotherapy treatment and I had yet to relapse. Life was good.

I stepped out of my bathrobe and shimmied into the closest sundress I could find. I frowned in the mirror at the large coffee stain in the top corner of the dress, just above my right breast. I had almost forgotten about that particular incident. My eyes automatically shifted to the open sketchbook that remained where I placed it the day before on my dresser. I studied the beautiful features of the man looking back at me and sighed. He was my favorite subject to draw—his depth-filled expressive eyes—his light wrinkles at the sides of his eyes when he smiled—his prominent jaw line. My eyes diverted back to the stain on my dress and I frowned again, remembering my very first day in the coffee shop—the sudden jolt of his body colliding with mine—the heat of the coffee seeping through my green dress—his half-hearted apologies as he handed me a twenty dollar bill before he hurried out of the shop to whatever destination drove him to such a frenzy.

Sophie's whimpering immediately brought me out of my contemplations, so I leaned down to give her the attention she so often craved while I got ready every morning.

"You'll get your walk later," I informed her, not even feeling the slightest bit weird talking to my pitt bull as if she were a person. When it came down to it, she was closer to me than any other person ever had been. She was like a daughter to me—a best friend. She was my companion and kept me from drowning in the loneliness that went hand-in-hand with being a 25-year-old single woman living alone in a city.

Sophie seemed to lull in response to my words as she curled up and lay down beside my feet. I smiled down at her just before stepping out of the stained dress and heading toward my closet to find something else to wear. I stopped short just as I passed by my full body mirror and froze as my reflection stared back at me in horror. The bruises on my rib cage were red and purple screaming at me in fury as they continued to run down the remainder of my bare stomach. I flinched when I thought of the implications behind their unwelcome presence. I felt my eyes start to tear up as I automatically lifted my fingers beneath my chin and felt around for the familiar menacing lumps that would confirm my horrifying suspicions. _Nothing. Thank God. _I knew I still had to call Dr. Grant and tell him about the bruises, though.

I continued on my trip to my closet and pulled out a light purple sundress that I remembered purchasing a year prior. I pulled it on and realized that, like all of my other clothes, it was a little too big. I walked back over to my mirror and studied my prominent bony collar bones and grimaced. I hated the fact that my cancer was taking everything away from me, including my body fat. Instead of dwelling on the negatives, I smiled in light of the way the purple sundress made my brown eyes sparkle. Feeling satisfied with my appearance, I quickly pulled my long, brown hair up into a messy ponytail, kissed Sophie goodbye, grabbed my sketchbook, and headed out the front door of my apartment. I stopped, like I did every morning, and closed my eyes as I felt the warmth of the spring sun spread throughout every inch of my body. There was nothing more beautiful—nothing that made life worth living more than to be able to feel the heat of sun. That was something I would surely miss. When I opened my eyes, I noticed Sue, my neighbor staring at me from across the street. She was wearing her gardening clothes and as soon as she saw my opened eyes she smiled her genuine grin that showed off all of her life's worth of wrinkles.

"Morning Bella," she yelled across the traffic of our slightly busy street while waving at me. The morning hours were always some of the most heavily trafficked times of the day.

"Morning Sue," I yelled back, returning her smile. "Tulips today?"

"Yeah, how'd you guess?" she replied, laughing lightly, and I couldn't help but to envy her for the long life that she was allowed to live. She and her husband, Harry, have lived in this same small home for the entire fifty-two years that they were married and that fact nearly took my breath away. If there was anyone else on this earth that deserved a healthy long-life though, it was Sue. She was an amazing person and I owed her my life for all that she has done for me.

I pointed to my brain as if to insinuate that "I just know things," before returning her wave and turning to continue my walk toward my destination. I reached the entrance door of The Corner Coffee Shop at precisely 8:00 a.m. like I did so often every weekday morning. I walked inside and stood in front of my usual table. My particular table was located at the farthest corner in the shop, chosen for its view out one of the front windows, facing the morning sun. I sat my sketchbook down and walked up to the front counter to find that, because it was a Tuesday, Rosalie was working.

"Tall decaff for you today, Bella?" she asked me, as I studied her face to find that she had dark circles under her beautiful blue eyes and her forehead was furrowed in worry--she wasn't sleeping well again. Her long blond hair was fastened haphazardly into ponytail, indicating to me that she must have been rushed this morning.

"Hmm..." I hummed, as my mouth was watering and begging me for a little caffeine. "I think I'll cheat a little today. Give me half-caff, please." I knew caffeine wasn't the best thing for my weak body, but life was too short not to live a little once in a while.

"Yes, maam," she said smiling tiredly at me again, and though I didn't know much about her besides the fact that she was a single mom, I somehow felt connected to her—like I could always tell what she was feeling. And even though she didn't know the exact nature of my health problems, she knew that I was sick enough not to ask. I didn't tell anyone about my Leukemia—in fact the only people that knew of my diagnosis were me, my doctors and hospital caregivers, and Sue and Harry. I didn't like the way that people looked at a person when they found out they had cancer—with pity and regret—secretly thanking God that it wasn't them that was enduring the terrible hurdle. I didn't want people to pity me, I didn't want people to feel sorry for me because I didn't feel sorry for myself. My life was a gift and even though it was most likely going to be cut short—I was thankful for every second that I was given to breathe.

I stood by the counter—holding up my weight with my hands—careful to conserve as much energy as possible. Usually by seven o'clock every evening I was so tired from being active throughout the day that I could barely find enough energy to stand. I learned some energy conservation techniques along the way that helped to increase my activity levels longer and longer with every day that passed. Rosalie handed me my fresh brewed cup of coffee as I gave her a five dollar bill, like I did every day, and told her to keep the change. I walked over to my seat and finally allowed myself to sit down for the first time since I crawled out of bed this morning. I did a quick scan of the coffee shop, noticing a few of the usual customers sitting in their normal seats. An older gentleman that appeared to be in his seventies always sat and read the newspaper over at table six—usually leaving around 8:30. A young college girl usually sat in the back corner and drank a cup of coffee while she typed away on her expensive lap top. She wasn't there every day—mostly Tuesdays and Thursdays--so I eventually reached the conclusion that those days were her early classes. I always caught myself envying her natural beauty—pale and luminous skin, almost black hair that was short and trendy, her eyes a unique shade of dark blue—and most days she wore thick glasses that made her look studious.

I took a sip of my coffee as I let the smooth taste of it slide back my throat and ease my watering mouth. It tasted better than I remembered and I couldn't fathom how I could have ever taken something as simple as coffee for granted—the way it soothes the mind while simultaneously waking up the nerve endings. It was incredible and euphoric—yet another reason life was definitely worth living—another reason I had to be thankful to be given anytime on this planet at all. I glanced down at my unfinished sketch of "beautiful man" and then glanced up at the clock on the wall. He shouldn't be here for another half hour or so, so I decided to start a new drawing while I waited. I opened to a clean page and began sketching Rosalie as she was busy at work behind the counter. I never really attempted to draw her before today because I was still trying to figure out her story. Why was she working in a small city coffee shop? Why didn't her daughter have a father that was present in her life? Why didn't she sleep well last night? So many questions ran through my mind as I tried to answer them through the artistic movements of my hand. When I drew, my hand took on a life of its own. It pulled my arm and guided my eyes in directions that were beyond my control. Sketching people was a release for me—it was almost therapeutic and my way of telling people's stories. Everyone has a story that is waiting to be told and I found that fascinating.

I got so caught up in my drawing, that I barely noticed the daily crowd that rushing in right around 8:30. I could hear that the voices were growing louder as more people arrived, signifying that the hustle and bustle of the city life couldn't be kept out for long. When I heard the door ring for the tenth time in a matter of minutes, my eyes automatically lifted up from my drawing just as _he_ entered. He was wearing the black suite today with light pin-stripes and he appeared to have on a light blue shirt underneath complimented with a royal blue tie. He always looked like the "suavest" of suave—right off of Wall Street with his briefcase and his sleek Blackberry that was always held next to his ear as he yelled at one of his employees. However,there was definitely no Wall Street in Seattle, so I often pondered where he was employed. His bronze hair was always an organized disheveled mess on his head—and though I realize that seems contradictory—I assure you that it was the truth and the best way that it could be described. His eyes were an intense piercing green and his skin was almost as light as mine, which is saying a lot due to the nature of my illness. On the outside he was perfection, the most beautiful man I have ever seen. On the inside, he appeared to be cold and unkind—taking slightly away from the stunning nature of his existence. _How could someone that possessed that much outward beauty possess so much inner cruelty?_ One of the many mysteries of life.

I managed to take my eyes off of him to turn my attention back to my unfinished sketch of him, because although I hated to admit it, he always captivated me. He was always luring me in to unravel his ambiguity. I often found myself enthralled with his beauty just like the other 15-20 woman in the coffee shop because, believe me, when he walked through those doors—all eyes were on him. _And he knew it. _Don't get me wrong, it wasn't as if I had a thing for him. I was smart enough to realize that beauty was only skin deep. I was just curious about him—about his lifestyle, his job, his reasoning for his impatience with his employees.

I began to draw more of his features, filling in a few of the creases around his eyes that I missed the last time I started this particular sketch. He was smiling genuinely in this picture, something that he didn't too often do in the four months that I have seen him coming here. My hand was just about to add a few more shadows and contours to his face when I felt, more than I saw, someone's presence standing before me. Slowly, I diverted my eyes up from my sketch to take in the perfect physique beneath the intricately tailored suit until my eyes finally locked directly on his—solely and undeniably. My breath hitched ever so slightly in my throat as I immediately closed my sketchbook and felt the blood pool into my pallid cheeks. His eyes wouldn't release mine from his gaze as I watched in absolute mortification as the sides of his mouth turned up into the most breath-taking crooked smile I have ever witnessed. _Shit. Shit. Shit. Oops, no swearing. I mean…crap. Crap. Crap. _No one has ever caught me drawing them before.

"I uh…was just uh.." I was rambling, trying to find my voice, as my mind tried to wrap itself around what was happening. Since when does "beautiful man" stop talking on his phone long enough to express any interest in his surroundings?

"Drawing a picture of me?" he asked, finishing my sentence--and suddenly I would have given anything to be anywhere but here, in this seat, at this particular coffee shop. I couldn't help but notice that he appeared smug with himself and was amused by my obvious embarrassment of being caught in the act.

"No," I blurted, lying lamely and I realized that I was angry. Who did he think he was anyway? He may be physically flawless but he was certainly not worth my embarrassment. "In fact, it's none of your business."

"I think it _is_ my business if you are drawing sketches of me without my permission, don't you agree?" he retorted, his voice still bordering on amusement rather than anger.

I sighed, and finally brought myself to look away from his stare to focus my attention out the window. "I'm sorry," I apologized quietly, feeling my anger fade. It wasn't like me to get so mad at someone like that before—this man was clearly effecting me in ways I wasn't sure I liked. "I just like to sketch…_people_…beautiful things…" and as soon as the words left my mouth I instantly regretted them. _Idiot. Dig yourself even deeper and feed his ego a little more, why don't you? _

When he didn't respond right away, my eyes reflexively shifted back over to find him staring at me with utmost interest. He was grinning crookedly again and he let out a low chuckle before extending his hand out to me. "Edward Cullen" he said, his voice soft and alluring.

I studied his hand as if it were a foreign object for a moment before I realized I was being awfully rude and placed my hand inside his. "Bella Swan," I managed to choke out. I still couldn't believe Mr. Hurry was speaking with me at all.

"Bella," he repeated my name while releasing my hand from his grasp. "I haven't seen you here before, do you come often?"

"Only everyday for the past four months," I scoffed, because of course he was always too caught up in his own world to ever notice anybody else. Maybe spilt coffee on green sundresses would ring a bell?

He seemed slightly taken aback by my response, but collected himself immediately. "Oh, you must usually come in the afternoons then?"

"Nope," I said matter-of-factly. "Every weekday morning at 8 a.m. you'll find me here. I usually stay until ten before I call it a day."

The surprise on his face was priceless, and he looked as though he was about to say something else but he was interrupted by the sound of his name being called on the intercom, stating that his coffee was ready. That explains why he was talking to me today.

"Well, that's me," he said, excusing himself. "Maybe I'll see you around?" he asked, before giving me a quick nod and walking away to pick up his drink. Just when I thought for sure that he'd be gone, I glanced up to find him walking toward me again. He lay a white business card on the table in front of me before smiling at the confusion obviously written all over my face. "That's my business card," he said, stating the obvious as I held myself back from rolling my eyes. "I'd like to see those sketches sometime, if you'd give me a call?"

Was that supposed to be a statement or a question? I wasn't entirely sure but I just nodded my head and mumbled "alright" before he turned around and disappeared back out onto the busy sidewalk.

That was the second time in four months that I spoke to Mr. Cullen. I didn't know anything about him other than the way his eyes wrinkled when he smiled, the different types of suits that he wore to work every day, and the fact that he seemed far too busy to enjoy anything about the life he was living.

_That's how he became number one on my list._

_

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_**A/N: Hey everyone! This is my original story that I decided to convert into a fan fic. **

**I want to say that this will not be updated on a regular basis, rather it is something that I plan on doing when I get the free moment. **

**Therefore, don't be pissed off if it takes me a long time to update it.  
**

**My main priority after Fall For You is working on Blame it on the Weatherman with my wifey, my hubby is no edward. **

**Speaking of her--thank you bb for coming up with the banging summary!!!  
**

** Please let me know if you are liking the idea so far. I'm so excited about this!**

**Also, thank you to all the FFY readers that helped answer my Leukemia questions.**

**No one beta'd this chapter, so please excuse my grammar. It will eventually be fixed, I promise.  
**


	3. The List

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my college debt and the 98/100 I just received on my musculoskeletal competency! **

**Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight.**

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"_Most of the shadows of this life are caused by our standing in our own sunshine."_

_-- Ralph Waldo Emerson_

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**Chapter 2: The List**

_Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia._

I could still hear the tall blonde doctor's robotic and unsympathetic voice spouting off my diagnosis to me as if it was a normal everyday thing for someone to wake up and suddenly have cancer. He was reading over my treatment options, letting me know my chances of survival, but my hearing went hollow and the room was beginning to close in on me as I tried to remember how to breathe.

_Cancer_. Really? That was impossible, right? I couldn't have cancer. I mean, I was a young, 20 year old, perfectly healthy girl who, just the day before, was stressing over what color of shoes to buy to match the new sweater I just purchased, and now I had cancer? How could that be possible?

_"Lymphoblastic cancer takes place in the marrow and attacks the cells that form lymphocytes. You're HCT revealed that your cancer is at a relatively advanced stage though it has yet to reach your CNS…"_

He was spouting off medical jargon that was way over my head and talking so fast that it was nearly impossible to keep up. _Lympho what?_

"Um, HCT?" I asked, in confusion, but he didn't seem to hear me because he just continued his lecture, never once glancing up from his clipboard to acknowledge my presence.

"_Due to the nature and extent of your RBC and WBC we're afraid you might be high-risk and suggest…"_

_RBC? WBC? What? _My mind was spinning with so many questions, always coming up short with any kind of response from the doctor.

"_If the chemotherapy doesn't work…" _he continued to mumble, but I wasn't paying attention anymore. I wasn't even attempting to keep up. That's when it hit me--was I going to lose my hair_? Oh God, I was, wasn't I? _I loved my hair; it was my blanket of security, the representation of my femininity. I couldn't bear to be without it.

"My hair…" I heard myself say out loud, stopping the doctor's robotic speech mid sentence.

"Excuse me?" he asked, sounding slightly annoyed for the interruption, and it was almost as though he just remembered that I was sitting in front of him the whole time he was talking.

"Am I going to lose my hair?" I asked, and I knew how it sounded—superficial and ridiculous that I'd be worrying about my hair when there were so many other questions I should be asking. It sounded even pettier as it reverberated off my lips, but I somehow felt it was better to focus on the small things rather than the ultimate question--the one that instantly began to sink into the back of my mind like a plague, begging to make its way to the forefront of my thoughts.

"Well, it's a perfectly normal side effect for someone who undergoes chemotherapy treatments to lose some or all of their hair," he responded, his arms crossing in front of his chest trying to make it known that he wanted to get on with his speech so he could leave the room.

"So that's a yes, then?" I continued on with my questions, not caring at all that I was taking up more of his precious time, or maybe I did care, but I failed to notice at the time? I can't be sure.

"No, it's a maybe. You might lose your hair, you might not. Everyone is different," he replied, his voice flat. It didn't go unnoticed that he was now anxiously tapping his pen against his clipboard.

I just nodded my head and swallowed thickly, my hand idly making its way through my long silky tendrils. Mr. Doctor, whose name to this day I still can't remember, took that as his cue to continue. I did, however, leave that appointment with the newfound knowledge that I would be finding a new doctor ASAP.

_"We'll start your first round of treatment on Wednesday and go from there; we need to be aggressive with this…"_

That's the last thing I remember him saying to me_, _and nowfive long years later, I was somehow still alive and kicking, my hair finally grown back. Because, though I did lose almost all of my hair from my first two forms of chemotherapy, the latest type I had been taking for the past two years was a little easier on me and allowed my hair to regenerate.

I rolled over on my bed, finally bringing myself completely out of my reminiscing and reached over to rub Sophie's belly. She was asleep and snoring on her back, her eyes opening slightly the moment she felt my hand on her white fur. I always loved that she was completely white except for the two black spots that covered her eyes and the large brown marking that took residence on the right side of her ribcage. When I saw her helpless and alone at the local animal shelter, her big, brown, eyes pleading into mine, I knew I couldn't resist her. She came home with me that very day, and we have been inseparable ever since.

"At least one of us is getting some sleep around here," I told her, automatically glancing over at my alarm clock to find that it was one in the morning.

I spent the last two hours tossing and turning in my bed, my mind working its way through the events of the day and reflecting on some key moments of my past—such as the day I learned of my diagnosis—the day everything in my life changed. And somehow, I felt like after speaking with Edward earlier today, it was the beginning of something different. A different start. A different journey. _A new challenge._ It was a strange feeling, almost a sense of revitalization to finally have a higher purpose to focus on rather than worrying about my disease.

Eventually, I got tired of lying in the dark, so I sat upright against my pillow and flicked on my lamp, bringing the shadows of my room to life. I picked up my journal from my bedside table and caught the small white business card that fell out of the page I had it bookmarking. I fumbled the card idly in my fingertips as I pictured Edward's face—his eyes creasing as his mouth turned upward into his perfect crooked smile.

Edward was a corporate lawyer, or so his business card revealed to me. I could practically picture him on the phone fighting for the rights of the companies he represented, his voice intense and intimidating. And, he truly was intimidating in every way possible—the way he dressed, the way he moved, the way he spoke, even the way he smiled. He practically screamed respect, so as imagined, when I discovered that he was _the_ Edward Cullen of the Cullen, Cullen, and McCarty firm, I was not the least bit surprised. I knew that I had my work cut out for me, but I wasn't going to let my own insecurities stop myself from achieving my goals.

Under the dim lighting, I opened my journal to today's entry, as my eyes darted slowly across the writing. Edward's name was listed beside number one. Numbers two and three had yet to be filled. I took in a deep breath and let my mind wander back to the day that I had decided to make this particular list…

_It was ninety days ago, and I was in my usual hospital gown, waiting for Dr. Grant—my replacement for blonde robot doctor-- to walk into the room to give me the news that I had been waiting for. The moment he walked through the door, I felt my heart relax as the smiling face looking back at me gave way to the news that he was about to give. I was in remission. Finally. Remission. I could never describe the magnitude that single eight-letter word had on my entire life. The moment it left the lips of Dr. Grant's kind mouth, my world was changed; nothing about me would ever be the same. I was given a second chance at life—a normal life, or at least a life without weekly chemo and radiation visits and the occasional bone marrow transplant. Five long years of surviving with a cancer that I knew was eventually going to kill me, and somehow, I was free. _

I was given the gift of a normal life; at least for the remainder of the time I had left, because although I was currently in remission, Dr. Grant warned me that my chances of relapsing were almost 90% due to the nature and length of my first bout of cancer. I held onto the hope of that 10%, but deep down inside, I could practically feel my body already generating the symptoms and chose to ignore them rather than face the ultimate truth of what they would mean for me. However, I was thankful for the time that I was given and I had reached the decision that I needed to do something in return—to give back to the world for what the world had given me. That's when I came up with the idea of making a list. The list wouldn't just be any list, rather it would include three challenges or tasks that I needed to complete before my time on earth was up. The three tasks would include three different people who I met along the way that could be helped by me in some form or another.

The specific tasks on my list would not be revealed until after I'm gone, as I'm hopeful my journal will be read and that my reasoning behind my actions would then be fully explained. However, for now, Edward became the first person to make the list because he made the perfect candidate to help me to complete my first task, due to his lack of appreciation for the life that he was given. I knew that I wanted to challenge myself and he would definitely be difficult. My hopes were to get to the bottom of his egotistical and cruel demeanor in order to uncover something more hidden beneath his hard exterior. When I looked at him—I mean, _really looked at him_—and when my hand moved on its own accord capturing some of his features on paper that were hard to be noticed by the everyday onlooker, I saw something more. I hoped that I would be able to get him to open up, to slow down, and to stop to see the true beauty in life. The beauty in _breathing_. The beauty in _seeing_. The beauty in _feeling_.

The following two spots on my list had yet to be determined and the only rule I had for myself was that I wasn't allowed to use my illness as a means to an end. I had to keep it a secret from those involved if I felt that it would get in the way of achieving my goals. Ultimately, I guess you can say that the list was my final challenge, my way of accomplishing something good in my life before my time here was done.

_Carpe Diem_.

Seize the day.

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Around nine o'clock the next morning, I skipped my usual coffee shop visit for the first time in months, and found myself standing outside one of sleekest buildings in all of Seattle. The windows were black and tinted and the floors were stacked high giving way to the identity of success. There was a fancy sign at the top of the building that read _Cullen, Cullen, and McCarty,_ signifying to me that I was in the right place. I took a moment to collect my thoughts, as I tilted my face up with my eyes closed, allowing the morning sun that was barely making its way through the overcast, to soothe away my worries. After a moment, I took in a deep breath and then glanced nervously down at my sketchbook in my hands. How many floors were there exactly? My eyes rose as I counted silently in my mind. _Seven. Eight. Nine._ Nine floors in total and I didn't have the slightest clue which would lead me to Edward. Sure, I knew that I could have just called, but somehow I felt the need to dive straight into my challenge and meet with him face to face.

Several people dressed in fancy business suits caught my attention as they walked out of the building, laughing with each other, never even giving me a second glance. Suddenly, I felt a little self-conscious and quite a bit underdressed as my eyes scanned over my knee length khaki colored skirt and purple flowered blouse. I was never one to care much about my outward appearance, but somehow I felt like I was about to stand out like a sore thumb. Before, I could allow myself any more time to change my mind; I clutched my sketchbook close against my chest and walked inside the state-of-the-art rotating doors.

The lobby was decorated in unnecessary lavishes. My eyes darted quickly around the large room taking in the greenery that most likely cost more than a year's worth of rent, and then stopped once they reached an incredible fountain that was set off in the far left corner. My legs were pulling me toward the running water before my brain had yet to register what was happening. I stopped directly in front as I stared in awe at how beautiful the layers of flowing rivulets were up close and how peaceful it was to just stop and listen to the soft sound of the streams' continuous movements. _I needed to get myself one of those…_

My thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of a familiar voice. _Edward's voice. _Sure enough, I turned to find him walking out of the main elevators across the room from me, talking to some tall, gorgeous, red-head, who was clearly busting out of the low cut dress shirt she was wearing. Edward, on the other hand, looked dapper as always, presenting in one of his all black suits, his tie slightly loosened around his neck. I couldn't help but notice that it appeared as though they were having somewhat of a heated discussion. Edward's voice was stern and directive and the assumed employee had her arms crossed defensively around her chest, which only made her cleavage protrude out further. _Was she doing that on purpose? _It didn't go unnoticed by Edward, and I smiled to myself, shaking my head as his eyes quite obviously lowered to take in the free show being displayed in front of him.

I watched in amusement as he walked with her over to the front desk, where a college-aged girl looked up to greet them—most likely an intern with her blonde hair fastened in a low ponytail at the base of her neck. Her smile was fake and forced and she took the instructions Edward ranted off to her in stride, quickly standing up from her chair behind the desk to walk around and greet the red-head.

"Now please show her to her new office on the fourth floor." I could vaguely make out his orders to her as his voice echoed off the wide-open room. "And, Victoria," he continued, turning his green eyes to the red-head again. "I expect you to be on time tomorrow, tardiness doesn't go over well here. Am I making myself clear?"

She nodded and then walked off to the elevators again, this time the intern leading the way. Edward stood back and watched them depart, his hand running through his messy hair as his eyes lowered to their backsides that were swaying enthusiastically in rhythm with their stilettos. _So, he was clearly a typical man. _

He was standing alone, so I took that as my opportunity to approach. He didn't notice me walking toward him; once again he was too consumed in his own world to notice any of his surroundings. Once I was a few yards away, he turned his back to me and leaned his arms on the top of the greeting desk. It appeared as though he was reading a sheet of paper. I swallowed thickly, feeling my palms start to sweat in nervousness, as I finally finished crossing the distance between us. He looked even more intimidating in his work atmosphere and suddenly I felt like this was a terrible idea. I definitely should have called, first. I was about to turn around and try to leave unnoticed, but he beat me to it, obviously able to sense my presence behind him.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he asked, setting the paper down and letting out a low sigh before turning to face me--his eyes locking on mine, unexpectedly causing a fresh round of butterflies to assault my stomach. _What was that about?_

He studied me for a moment as I tried to remember how to speak and I could tell he didn't recognize me, though I think he knew that he should. "Well, yes…actually…I uh…," my voice came out in rambles, and I wanted to curse myself for my sudden inability to form a coherent sentence. I couldn't quite explain the reasoning behind my behavior in his presence. It frustrated me that I was stooping as low as to let his outward beauty affect me in ways that it shouldn't. "I met you yesterday at the coffee shop," I finally finished, lamely.

He looked at me questioningly, a puzzled expression never leaving his face. He clearly didn't remember me at all, and my eyes couldn't seem to be pulled away from the unique way that his brow creased ever-so-slightly as he pondered my statement. Suddenly desperate to save myself from the awkwardness of the moment, I pushed out my sketchbook toward him, his eyes instantly dropping to assess it.

"You wanted to see my sketches…," I added quietly.

Recognition finally dawned on him, as his whole entire face lit up in a breathtakingly genuine smile. "Ahh yes," he said, a mixture of satisfaction for solving the mystery of me and confusion, most likely wondering why I randomly showed up at his office, playing out on his face. His hands wasted no time reaching out to take my most prized possession out of my grasp. I felt a wave of nausea come over me at the thought of letting anyone else view my personal drawings, but I had internally argued with myself the entire day yesterday over this, so I wasn't about to change my mind now. He must have felt my hesitation, my sudden tightened grip on the book, because I could feel his eyes on me again and his hand retreated to his sides.

"What did you say your name was again?" he asked, his voice suddenly softer and more alluring.

"Bella," I replied, taking my book back and planting it safely against me once again.

"Yes, Bella, that's right," he said, recalling our meeting yesterday. We both fell to silence then, neither of knowing quite what to say next as the sudden oddity behind my visit began to taint the air surrounding us. I couldn't help but to wonder what he was thinking. Perhaps he thought I was like the other 9/10 of the female population of Seattle, trying to find any excuse to throw myself at him. I almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of that particular theory.

"Okay, well then," he eventually said, snapping out if it and breaking our silence. "I actually have a meeting that I need to catch right now, so you could either let me borrow your book, or if you don't mind you can just wait in my office…"

"I can wait," I said, a little too abruptly as my anxiety increased at the mere thought of having my sketch book out of my possession.

"Alright," he said, a little taken aback by my sudden tone. "You can just follow me—right this way."

He guided me over to the elevator, lightly placing his hand against my lower back, obviously feeling extremely comfortable in the company of a woman. I watched his index finger reach out and press the up arrow. I noticed the beauty of the skin on his hands—the long slender curve of his fingers-- and caught myself glancing down to investigate my own hands, realizing that they were only half the size of his—awkward and bony. We both stood in an uncomfortable silence as we waited for the steel doors to open. The alerting ding brought us both out of our inner contemplations as we stepped inside, Edward reaching in front of me to push the button that would lead us to the 5th floor. I unconsciously took a step backward as his sudden proximity made me feel extremely uncomfortable, and the heavenly scent of his cologne attacked my senses. He hardly seemed to notice how close we were; he just simply pressed the button and then stepped back into his own corner of the elevator. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to adjust to the confinement, my head already spinning. Elevators were never my forte.

Once we started moving and I regrouped, I chanced a glance at him out of the corner of my eye to find him studying me, almost in amusement with a cocky smirk on his face.

"What?" I asked, feeling self-conscious under his stare.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked his voice lowering to almost a seductive tone, his posture exuding nothing but pure confidence. _Okay, so he was that type of guy. Cocky. Arrogant. Possible playboy?_

"Excuse me?" I replied, in shock from the question he just asked. "Um no, for your information I'm just fine, thanks."

"You don't look fine," he said, chuckling, finally taking his eyes of me and turning to face forward again. My eyes quickly scanned over his arrogant stance--his hands were rested in the pockets of his dress pants and his feet shoulder-width apart. He was enjoying getting a rise out of me and I almost laughed out loud at the fact that he thought I was interested to him. A second later, I followed his lead and faced forward as well; smiling to myself for the fun I was going to have getting to know everything about the mysterious man beside me. I wondered how he'd react to finding out that it _is_ possible for a female to be in his presence and not want in his pants.

"I don't like elevators," I replied, as soon as the doors opened to reveal the fifth floor. I was grinning back at him as I confidently pushed past him and stepped out into the wide open office.

I glanced around the room, taking in the sights and the sounds of a busy working environment. There was a waiting area to my right in front of a secretary desk. To my left there were three large offices with oak-trimmed doors. Two of the doors were closed; one was hanging wide open where I noticed a man with short dirty blonde hair talking on the phone--his feet crossed and causally resting on top of his desk. He appeared to be laughing at something the person on the other line had said and I noticed that his smile was contagious—his laughter infectious. He glanced up just as I noticed him, his eyes locking on mine briefly before shifting to focus on something behind me. _Edward._

That's when I felt it—his body close behind me, his hands gently gripping my arm and his mouth inches away from my ear—his warm breath against the skin on my neck.

"That's Emmett," he practically whispered, and I couldn't stop the traitor goosebumps from forming all over my body. "He's a jackass."

Emmett grinned at me widely and I couldn't hold back my laughter at his cluelessness to what he was just called. Edward released me just as quickly as he approached and began walking toward one of the closed doors centering the three offices.

"This way," he said, looking over his shoulder and gesturing for me to follow him.

If I thought the lobby was lavish, it couldn't hold a candle to the extravagance that was Edward's office. He had a dark mahogany oak desk in the center with a large leather chair seated behind it that practically screamed "money." There were oak shelves and built in fish tanks and marble paperweights with luxuriant lamps and modern decor. His chair sat directly in front of the large windows that provided a natural lighting to the room, only adding to its aesthetic nature.

"Wow," I said out loud, appreciating the beauty of my surroundings. "This is incredible."

"Eh, I don't know about incredible," he said absent-minded, looking down at his watch. "Well, feel free to have a seat and make yourself comfortable, I have to—"

He was cut off by the piercing beeping of his telephone. "Mr. Cullen, Sally Jenks is holding for you on line three," a soft voice said over the phone's speaker.

"Shit," Edward cursed under his breath, as he looked at his watch again and rubbed his fingers in frustration through his golden hair. He walked behind his desk and picked up his phone, holding the receiver to his ear while his fingers quickly dialed. "Yeah, Jessica, can you please tell Sally that I'm busy and I'll call her later?... What's that?... Well, that's too bad isn't it, because I should have been in a meeting five minutes ago and therefore I could care less about her financial problems at the moment? You understand that, right? I don't care what you tell her, just make it good."

He slammed the phone down, his eyes connecting with mine again. "Interns," he said, shaking his head back and forth in disgust. "And, I always get stuck with the idiots."

"That's not a very nice thing to say," I replied, already feeling bad for that Jessica he had working for him.

"Well, Bella," he said, grabbing a clipboard and a briefcase off of his desk before walking over to stand a few inches from me. "I guess I'm not a very nice person."

With that, he smiled and walked the door, doing a little turn around to face me again before he exited. "I'll be back in a few."

* * *

**A/N: I hope this helped to showcase a little more what this story is all about. **

**Please review and let me know what you think.**

**Thank you C for being my inspiration to write and for being my fabulo beta/wifey! I love you bunchesss!! Can't wait to "do our thing!!"  
**

**Thanks to Mitch, my RL bff, for reading over this and looking at it with a critical eye!**

**Finally, happy birthday to my fiance! He is turning 26 today!! :-D  
**


	4. Mother Theresa

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my college debt and the book Dune Road by Jane Green that I just purchased a few days ago. Great read, BTW. **

**Anyway, Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight and pretty much owns my life, too.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Mother Theresa**

**Edward's POV**

I opened the door to the main conference room, all of the occupant's attention immediately shifting in the direction of my interruption. My father's eyes met mine, his jaw visibly clenching, his dyed blonde hair slicked back, as he stood in his spot of authority at the head of the table. It wasn't like me to be late, and I knew I'd be getting my ass chewed out later because of it. I just ignored his glares and took my seat next to him, glad that he continued on with his presentation sparing me my embarrassment. I grabbed my notebook out of my briefcase and clicked open my pen, preparing myself for the tedium of the next thirty minutes. I could still feel people's eyes on me, clearly shocked and perturbed that the big "boss-man's" son could be such a fuck-up. It wasn't easy being the son of a Cullen, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit that there were times I wished I was never born into this family. From the moment I took my first breath, I was destined to take over my father's business, practically already accepted into Harvard's prestigious school of law before I even learned to take my first steps. I was a Cullen and that meant I didn't get many choices. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I hated being a lawyer. I loved my time in law school with Emmett and I loved most aspects of my job now. Of course, the salary was never high enough, but besides that I couldn't really complain. Work was my life, I dedicated all of my time to achieving nothing short of success. With that said, it shouldn't come as surprise that it pissed me off royally when I came up short it suddenly became everyone else's business but my own.

My father was discussing our numbers and logistics, as well as a few problems that came up in an agreement we made with one of our biggest companies. I was trying to write down everything that he was spouting off, but to be completely honest, for the first time since I can remember, I wasn't much paying attention. For whatever reason, I couldn't seem to stop thinking about the random girl that showed up at my office, looking as though she borrowed clothes straight out of my grandmother's closet. I couldn't help my curiosity from getting the best of me, wondering exactly what her true intentions were for showing up so unexpectedly. I had asked her to see her sketches, so what? I knew that she'd be able to hook me up with a great gift for my parent's wedding anniversary on Sunday, but obviously she didn't know about that. She must've had other intentions; most-likely a crush and I might say I was flattered if she wasn't so weird about it. I mean, I was used to woman throwing themselves at me by now, what with my good looks, fat wallet, and position of power, I was most likely considered one of Seattle's most-eligible bachelors. It's not like I'm trying to be cocky or arrogant about it, but what's fact is fact—and those things most definitely could not be argued.

A vibrating inside of my pocket brought me briefly out of my contemplations. I reached in and pulled my Blackberry into my lap, my eyes scanning over a message from Emmett.

_What's Mother Theresa doing in your office? Another drunken 1night stand?_

I grinned and shook my head back and forth at his idiocy. He should know better than to assume I would ever sleep with someone of her caliber. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's not that she wasn't…I don't know…er…pretty? In her own sort of way…I'm not sure, but I guessed she'd be described as the kind of girl that was attractive in the sense that you could easily take her home to mom and she'd fall in love almost immediately.

_No asshole, actually I think she likes you. Maybe you should go for it._

I continued to grin as I quickly sent the message and then focused my attention back on my father, who was now visibly annoyed with my distractions. My smile instantly faded as I noticed he was tapping his fingers impatiently on the table, as if he were waiting for me to respond to something he had said.

"Well, Edward?" he asked, his voice firm and filled with irritation, his eyes narrowing. _ Christ, he was intimidating._ "Are you going to show us your proposal or should we wait until your done text messaging?"

_Shit. _He _was_ waiting for my response_. Fucking Emmett._

"Sorry" I muttered. "It was a message from an up and coming business venture. I couldn't just ignore it."

He knew it was a lie. In fact, I was pretty sure everyone knew it was a lie, but I didn't give a shit. I stood up with my pre-made portfolio that I had spent every waking moment over the past four days working on. I knew it could easily be rejected, as many of my past proposals have, and all of that time spent would have been for nothing. But, that was just another aspect of the job, another shitty thing that went along with being a lawyer in the corporate world of booming business.

* * *

I stormed into my office after the meeting ended, my fucking proposal being ripped apart from hell and back. I completely forgot about the girl named Bella until I saw her jump at the sound of me slamming my briefcase on my desk, her eyes growing wide in response to my obvious anger.

"Oh hey," I said half-distracted, trying to make my voice softer. "Sorry about the wait."

"Don't worry about it," she replied, appearing a little uneasy, and I couldn't stop myself from mentally chuckling at the way she looked completely out of place sitting in my large leather guest chair.

I slumped down into my chair behind my desk and brought my fingers to my temples, trying to rub away the killer headache that decided to make its fabulous debut mid-meeting.

"Is everything okay?" she eventually asked, when I didn't bother saying another word to her.

"Everything's just great," I said, and okay, I was being somewhat sarcastic, but whatever. I didn't feel like dealing with her questioning right now. I just needed a moment of silence.

"If you want me to leave I could always--"

"No," I interrupted her, my eyes shifting up to look at her again. Hell, if she left now I wouldn't have any other ideas for a gift for my mother and father's anniversary. Okay, so I guess I'd eventfully be able to think of something else to give them, but this route seemed so much easier.

"Okay, well um…you just look really stressed out, so if this isn't a good time I could always come back another day," she told me. And, I'm not sure what it was about her words, perhaps the tone of her voice or her impeccable timing, but I snapped.

"What the hell do you know about stress anyway?" I retorted, my voice filled with resentment. "Do you even work? I mean, do you even have a _real_ job or do you spend all your time in random coffee shops drawing pictures of people you wish would notice you?"

_Shit. _My anger wasn't meant to be directed toward her, really it wasn't. And, I wasn't always such an asshole, but God I was in such a jacked mood and her annoying "high-horse" attitude wasn't helping. She instantly stood up from her seat, looking as though she was going to start crying at any moment.

"I'm sorry," I said sincerely in response to the hurt expression on her face. In that moment, I was filled with an unsettling feeling, something that felt dangerously close to remorse—remorse for hurting the feelings of this girl I knew nothing about. "I didn't mean that, I'm just…"

I trailed off for a moment as I tried to think of something charming to say. I wasn't really good with apologies.

"No, it's okay," she said quietly before I could continue, shocking the hell out of me, as she took a deep breath and sat back down. She folded her hands on her lap and I lowered my eyes to study them briefly before I met her gaze again. _Was she really going to let me off the hook that easily?_

"You're right," she continued, her voice more solid, her eyes slightly narrowing. "I don't have a job and I do like to spend my time in a random coffee shop drawing people, but I don't do it so that they'll notice me. In fact, I usually try to avoid being noticed at all."

She now had my full and undivided attention as I watched her cheeks grow pink with embarrassment and her eyes drop to floor in defeat. Her reaction was something so minute and subtle, yet it momentarily stirred something inside of me…something I'm not quite sure I wanted to recognize. And, as if that wasn't confusing enough, I couldn't find it in myself to pull my eyes off her. For whatever reason, she was captivating me, puzzling me completely with the peculiar nature of her arrival, her oddly endearing, but definitely unstylish appearance, and her all too-kind personality.

She wasn't oblivious to my intense stare as I tried to figure her out. Her eyes darted nervously at everything else but me as she smoothed out her skirt and crossed her legs, continuously fidgeting in her seat.

"Well," I said, a grin forming on my lips, my eyebrows raising slightly, as my mind pictured her just one day prior as she oh-so-obviously sketched away on her large artsy notepad in a far off corner of the coffee shop. "You don't do a very good job of that. Perhaps the giant sketchbook gives you away."

She smiled at me then and I felt myself relax. I was thankful she wasn't going to get up and run out of my office before I ever got the chance to ask her for her assistance. And shit, okay, a smaller part of was also satisfied that I was able to make her smile.

"It's amazing that anything was able to get _your_ attention," she said, her smile shrinking into more a playful grin. _Was she flirting with me now? _She was horrible at this and I couldn't stop myself from chuckling.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked through my laughter, though I seriously wanted to know.

"You're always too caught up in your Blackberry, yelling at people and discussing your business operations to notice anything else around you," she explained. "In fact, I was completely shocked yesterday when you approached me."

I raised my eyebrows at her again. "Okay, so you stalk me now, too?"

"No," she said quietly, her eyes dropping insecurely down to the floor again. "I just like to watch people…to try to figure them out."

"Why?" I asked. Either she was incredibly interesting or a complete freak. At this point, I was banking on the latter.

"I don't know," she replied, grabbing her sketchbook from its spot on the floor and placing it on my desk in front of me. My gaze held hers for a moment before she let out a soft sigh. "Do you want to see these or not?"

"Yes actually," I replied allowing her to get away with her topic change as I grabbed the book and opened it to the first page. It was a dog, a pittpull to be exact, and I wasn't really one to know much about art, but it looked to me like the drawing was pretty damn good. "So you draw animals, too?"

"Well, I draw anything really. That's my dog, Sophie," she said, and I could see her eyes light up at just the mention of her name. So, she was an animal lover, too? I wasn't really surprised by that, it just sort of suited the overall look she had going on.

"I see," I said trying to act interested, turning to the next page which was another picture of Sophie, this time she was on her back, her paws outstretched like she was begging for a belly rub. "Very nice dog, though you don't look like a pittbull kind of girl."

"What exactly does a pittbull kind of girl look like?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

My eyes reflexively scanned over her body, taking in her too long of a skirt and ugly flowered shirt. "The complete opposite of you," I said, bringing my attention back to her sketches as I flipped a couple of pages until I found some of the drawings of me. "Wow, I'm looking good if I do say so myself. You're really rather talented, not that making a picture of me look perfect is a hard feat to accomplish."

I smirked at her, hoping she would know that I was only joking. She laughed lightly, and grabbed the book, trying to pull it out of my grasp. "If you're going to be all arrogant about it, I'll just be taking these back with me now."

I was stronger than she, of course, considering she'd be lucky to weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet, and therefore she couldn't get the book out of my grip. "Hey, not so fast," I said, laughing right along with her as I held her gaze again. "I'm only speaking the truth, and you know it."

She just rolled her eyes, but gave me the book back. I reveled in my triumph as I flipped to the last page. It was an unfinished picture of the girl that worked behind the counter of the coffee shop—the one that Emmett had lusted after a few weeks ago.

_"Nothing hotter than a woman hard at work," Emmett had told me on one of the few days that he joined me for my morning coffee. "Oh, the things that I'd do to her."_

Emmett really didn't have any boundaries when it came to woman. There were two categories to him: hot or not. If they were hot, he'd be interested. It didn't matter to him whether or not they were some lower-class possible hookers, making a living working in a small coffee shop, in the midst of a great city with so many other prestigious opportunities.

"This girl," I asked, pointing to the sketch. "What's her name?"

"She serves you almost every single day and you mean to tell me you don't know her name?" she asked me, and I guess I never really had it put that way before. This Bella sure knew how to make me feel like a complete dickhead.

"Well no," I said, trying to think of a way to defend myself. "I just never really--"

"Paid much attention?" she asked, interrupting me.

"I'm a busy man," I argued. "My life is very stressful, my job very time consuming. You know what; I really don't know why I'm telling you any of this right now. I don't owe you any explanations."

"You're right," she said for the second time in a matter of minutes as she stood up in her seat again. "You don't owe me anything.

I stood up to join her.

"Wait," I said, handing her sketchbook back to her. "Before you go, there's something I need to ask you, something that I'm pretty sure will help us both out."

"What is it?" She was already pulling her sketchbook into her chest, preparing to leave.

"I would like to purchase your services," I said, then realizing how that sounded I decided it'd be wise to elaborate. "I'm actually in dire need of a gift for my mother and father's thirtieth wedding anniversary this Sunday, and when I saw that you sketched, I instantly thought you might be able to help me out."

I could see that I had her attention now, several emotions flashed across her face as she seemingly pondered my words. "How can I help?" she eventually asked, my eyes instantly drawn to her bottom lip where her teeth were now sinking into. I managed to pull my eyes away to look into her eyes again.

"Well," I started to explain as I walked around from behind my desk and over toward her, stopping once I was a few inches away. "I just need you to think of something sentimental to draw, something that a mother would love."

"So let me get this straight," she replied, her brow furrowing. "You want me to think of something that _your_ mother and father would like, keep in mind I never met either of them before, and then draw it with you taking no part in the process whatsoever?"

"Yes," I agreed. "That's exactly right. Of course, I'll pay you more than what's considered adequate."

"I don't want your money, Edward," she said abruptly, shocking me again. How could she not want my money when she admitted to not working? Clearly, she wasn't very wealthy; her wardrobe was evidence to that.

"Well, then what would you want? Name it and you'll have it," I replied, unwilling to give up so easily.

She paused for a moment and then said, "I want you to be a part of the process."

"Excuse me?" I asked in confusion. Why the hell would she care if I took part in "the process?"

"Edward, the whole point of buying someone a gift is the thought that the giver puts into it," she explained, readjusting her grip on her sketchbook. "I'll only agree to help you out if you'll agree to come spend the day with me while we try to find something sentimental to draw."

"Oh c'mon," I pleaded, rubbing my fingers through my hair, staring into her eyes with the look I knew always won women over. With a lowered voice, I added "I don't have time for that."

"Well then, that's too bad," she said shrugging her shoulders, completely unaffected by my charm, as she turned away from me and prepared to exit.

She only managed to take one step before my hand latched onto her arm, stopping her in her footsteps. "When?" I asked, through clenched teeth.

"Friday," she said simply, turning around to face me again. I was standing closer to her now, looking down at her from the huge height advantage I had over her petite frame.

_Friday_? As in the day after tomorrow? Was she serious? "I have to work on Friday."

"Not anymore," she said smiling. "You'll be taking the day off."

This time, she turned around and walked out of my office with me following at her heels. "I can't just take a day off," I said a little louder than necessary, catching the attention of almost everyone in the office.

"I'm sure you can figure something out," she said, not stopping in her journey toward the elevators, seemingly unaffected by the fact that we were now the center of attention. We walked past Emmett as he came out of his office to investigate. I wanted to wipe the stupid grin off his face.

Once we reached the elevator and she pressed the down arrow, she turned around to look at me again. I buried my hands in my pockets and frowned at her in frustration. I thought she was going to be easy to win over, apparently I was wrong. "You're the weirdest person I have ever met," I said to her, not caring anymore if it would hurt her feelings.

"You're the most stubborn person I have ever met," she retorted. "God, it won't kill you to take a day off. When's the last time that you did?"

"That's what I thought," she said, when I didn't respond right away, the elevator dinging as it opened. She handed me a slip of paper with what appeared to have a phone number on it. I studied it in confusion as she spoke.

"I'd be more than happy to help you out, Edward, as long as you're willing to do your part as well." She walked onto the elevator and turned to look out at me through the opened doors. "If you change your mind, that's my number. Give me a call. Otherwise, you know where to find me."

With that, the elevator doors closed leaving me alone to think about the events that had just ensued.

* * *

That night, I was eating the carryout pizza I had picked up on my way home from work and watching CSPAN, trying to come up with some other idea for something I could get for my parent's anniversary. Last year, I had forgotten about it, and I knew it hurt my mother's feelings, though she'd never come right out and say it. She was very sensitive like that, the complete opposite of my father who was strong-willed and opinionated. It was always obvious which of the two I took after.

Eventually after exhausting all of my options and coming up short in my internet research, I decided to give in to Bella's offer. I guessed it wouldn't kill me to take off work on Friday, even if she was using it as an excuse to force me into hanging out with her. _Pathetic. Fascinating. _

I grabbed my Blackberry off of my living room coffee table and opened up my schedule.

_Friday May 24, 2009: Mr. E Cullen won't be in the office today. _

_Please forward all messages to his voicemail._

I clicked send, knowing that the message would go to all necessary destinations.

Later on, before falling asleep alone in my king-sized bed I tried to convince myself that the only reason I was agreeing to Bella's offer was for the sake of my parent's anniversary gift. I wasn't about to admit to myself that I was interested in her company.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed Edward's POV. He's pretty much asshole of the year right now. **

**Thank you C(my hubby is no edward) , wifey baby, keeper of my heart, for your beta skills. I love you and your southern comfort madly.**

**Also, I'm currently seeking another beta for this story, PM me if you're interested. **

***Going out to buy Us Weekly magazine* See ya later.  
**


	5. Build Me Up, Buttercup

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Stephenie Meyer owns all. **

**And interestingly enough, I wrote this today while I came down with the flu. **

**If it sucks and makes absolutely no sense at all, blame the fever.**

**

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**Chapter 4: Build Me Up, Buttercup**

**Bella**

Thursday morning, I was sitting at my usual table, looking out the finger-printed glass of the window of the coffee shop, watching as the rain fell from the sky and danced off the concrete sidewalk below. Women rushed by with their purple polka-dotted umbrellas and rain boots, rushing to get out of the downpour, careful not to get their perfectly sculpted hair wet. I unconsciously glanced down at my damp, light pink blouse, my fingers reaching up and running through my saturated waves of hair. I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes, feeling some of the water from my hair drip down my back while pulling my attention away from the moisture and chaos outside. Eventually, I shifted my concentration to the inhabitants and my familiar surroundings, unable to stop myself from relishing the way the walls provided me with a comfort, granting me a barrier from the cold exterior world.

The small cafe was all encompassed with its usual aroma of deep espresso and freshly baked bread, the scents swirling around and relaxing me, only further making me feel at home. I smiled to myself and diverted my gaze over to the college girl's table to find that it was surprisingly empty. I frowned down at my open sketchbook; the waiting charcoal pencil hugged tightly in my fingertips, and sighed in disappointment. _Change of plans._ I flipped back through my past designs, searching for the unfinished Rosalie, but ended up stopping on Edward instead. I stared down at his undeniable beauty, drinking in his breath-taking smile and loving the way his eyes were dancing with the thrill of laughter. His picture affected my in ways I wasn't about to willingly admit, but I knew it was just a careful façade, that the true nature of his attitude was not one I'd normally find attractive. _But, what was it about him? Why did I feel so drawn to him?_ I knew I saw something deeper in him, felt something more than his hard exterior radiating in the air between us as I reflected upon my visit to his office the day before. He was clearly so unhappy, taking out his frustrations and his miserable way of living on his poor interns, all those lower on the totem pole. I had felt bad when he spoke to Jessica like she was a moron, treating her in ways that no human should ever be treated. I somehow felt responsible, like I needed to go to her and apologize for his actions_. I'm so sorry._ _He doesn't truly mean what he's saying. He's just miserable and unhappy. Try not to take is personal. _

I smiled to myself as I pictured her reaction, imagining him over-hearing me, his mouth hanging open in shock. The same priceless look he had on his face the moment I stepped on the elevator, not giving him his way for once in his life. I had a feeling that Edward Cullen always got his way when it came to the opposite sex. Well, not this time_. Not with me._

"Okay, fine," I heard his familiar melodic voice say as he shocked me out of my contemplations, my eyes shooting up and locking on his approaching form. I watched him in surprise as he sat down in the empty chair across from me; his brow furrowed in frustration and his hair visibly wet. "You win."

"Excuse me?" I asked, slightly flustered that I'd been so caught up in him that I failed to notice his arrival. I'd be lying if I didn't admit I was wondering if he'd talk to me today or not, running lines through my head of what I would say to him before I drifted off to the sleep the night before.

"Friday," he said simply, his voice firm and intimidating, his eyes glancing down at my sketch. I watched him as his expression instantly softened once he realized I was looking at his picture. He glanced back up at me and quirked an eyebrow, a crooked grin played out on his face.

"Don't even think about it," I said, stopping him before he could say something arrogant. "I can see the wheels turning, and I assure you, you're wrong."

"Oh?" he asked. "So you weren't just sitting here staring longingly at my self-portrait?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it after I unsuccessfully thought of a response.

"That's what I thought," he said. His Blackberry must have buzzed in his pocket, because he pulled it out and frowned at the screen, his forehead wrinkling in frustration. I watched him intently for a moment, memorizing the way his lips pursed ever-so-slightly as his jaw clenched in concentration.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my natural instinct to help automatically kicking in.

His eyes glanced up and connected with mine, his brow relaxing. "It's nothing," he said, his voice softer, his right hand running idly through his wild hair.

"I know that look," I told him, taking a quick sip of my caffeine-free coffee. "It's definitely more than nothing."

He studied me for a moment, his eyes tracing over my face. "What are you…what do you mean, you know "that" look? What look? What are you talking about?"

It was the look he gave when he was frustrated and defeated. I've seen it many times before as he yelled into his phone at some mystery person on the other end. I've seen it yesterday in his office when he returned from his meeting. I've watched him for months now, knowing more about him than he'd ever realize. I realized that made me strange, maybe even ranked along the same lines as voyeurs, so I decided it'd be best not to tell him all the minor details right away.

"I just…I dunno," I said, feeling my teeth sink into my bottom lip. "Is something going on at work?"

He looked genuinely surprised for a moment, his eyes slightly widening in amusement and curiosity. "You're asking me about work?"

My eyes dropped from his as I watched his mouth move while he spoke. He had a beautiful mouth-- lips soft and inviting, teeth perfect and sparkling. "Yeah, I guess I am," I replied, meeting his gaze again and smiling softly. "You seem upset."

"I'm fine," he lied, glancing at his phone again, typing something and then putting it away. I was shocked that he was sitting here with me at all, shocked that he had yet to run off in the hurry he always seemed to be in.

"Listen," he said, once his phone was back in confinement, "I'm taking off Friday like you asked. I hope you know I'm going to fall so behind because of it, but whatever. If you'll help me get my parents a gift then I guess it's worth it. I just need to know where to meet you and when."

To say I was stunned would be an understatement. I knew what I must have looked like in that moment, mouth hanging open, gaping at him like he just touched down from the mother land. "Um…yes of course, "I said, stuttering over my words, trying to collect my thoughts, remembering the lines I had rehearsed the night before. "Why don't we meet at my house at nine o'clock?"

"Your house?" he asked, skeptically.

"Yeah, I figured we could take Sophie with us for a walk," I explained. "C'mon, you know you want to meet her."

He half smiled at me while shaking his head, and I knew he was going to cave. "Well, I do love dogs."

"Great, it's a deal then," I said, smiling widely, thrilled that my plan was falling perfectly into place. I found myself anticipating the fact that I'd actually have company for once.

"I just need your address," he said, handing me one of his business card, flipping it over to the blank side. I took it and wrote down my address with my pencil, then handed it back to him. He studied it for a moment, his eyes dancing over each of my written words. For a moment, I wondered what he was thinking, knowing my street wasn't nearly as luxurious as the lifestyle he was used to living.

Eventually, he looked up at me and smiled, tucking the card in the pocket of his suit coat. "I'll see you Friday," he said, standing up and collecting his briefcase. "I have to get to work."

"Of course," I said, already anticipating his departure. "I'll see you then."

He nodded and started to walk away.

"Oh, and Edward," I said, stopping him in his tracks as he turned around and looked at me expectantly. "I hope you have a good day."

He looked puzzled for a minute, maybe even slightly taken aback, but then finally, he smiled. It was beautiful and fresh, a genuine smile, one that reached his eyes and lit up his entire face. "You too, Bella.

I couldn't help but to beam, feeling triumphant that I was able to make him smile. I noticed he never ordered any coffee, obviously just coming in here looking for me. That thought made my smile grow even wider. Maybe everything was going to work out after all. That's when I caught her out of the corner of my eye. Rose was looking at me quizzically from behind the barista counter, switching her gaze between me and Edward's retreating form. When my eyes met hers, she grinned knowingly, shaking her head and letting out a light laugh. I shrugged and returned her smile before looking down at my watch to find I was going to be late. I had some explaining to do to her, but I knew that would have to wait. Quickly I gathered up my belongings, waving to Rose before hurrying out the door and heading back out into the rain. The hospital was only a few blocks away.

* * *

The cardiac unit, also known as the third floor of the University of Washington Medical Center, was officially a madhouse. I no sooner checked in with Edith, the volunteer's coordinator, stepped off the elevator, breathing in the familiar smell of eucalyptus and latex, and looked over the schedule on the nurses station bulletin board, before I was already getting pushed and pulled in multiple directions, getting asked to transport patients to various locations. I started volunteering my services about a month after I moved to Seattle, realizing I wanted something effective to do with my free time. I worked every Thursday from 10: 30 a.m. to 3: 30 p.m., my main duties involving changing bed sheets, transporting patients, and sometimes just helping to provide some upbeat company to some of the lonelier people. I absolutely loved every aspect of my job and even though I never received a paycheck, I took it very seriously.

The nurses and doctors were always very busy, rushing around to keep up with the influx of new patients, making it difficult for me to develop any sort of relationships with them. However, I did develop a slight camaraderie with one of the younger occupational therapists on staff. Her name was Bree, she was upbeat and beautiful, but not in an obvious way. Her beauty ran deep, hidden in the warmth of her smile, the softness in her hazel eyes, and the infectious nature of her genuine laugh. She was close to my age, fresh out of college and filled with the excitement of finally going out to start a life of her own. After the first week of volunteering, I had learned she was engaged to a lucky guy named, Eric, planning a wedding for the end of August. She had a lifetime of ups and down in front of her, so many opportunities, so much potential to complete all of her goals and aspirations. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I envied her, but I was happy for her, thrilled that someone with her kind heart was getting the life I could only dream of.

On that particular Thursday, Bree came buzzing by me, singing a soothing melody of "Build me up Buttercup," while swaying her hips to her tune.

"_I need you, more than anyone darling, you know that I have from the start," _she sang as she twirled around and pointed at me animatedly, both of us breaking out in effortless laughter. I loved the way it felt, the emotional humor overtaking my body and producing the bubble inside of my chest. I appreciated the audible sounds of joy and content echoing down the corridor as we enjoyed our care-free exchange.

"Well good morning to you, too," I said through my light laughter. "You're crazy, you know that, right?"

"Uh huh," she said smiling and bending down to pull out a chart and examine it, her auburn hair tied up in messy ponytail on top of her head. I watched her carefully as she read over the words, her face distorting into a frown. "Ugh, way too young to be having heart problems."

"How old?" I asked, already feeling my _healthy_ heart drop to the pit of my stomach at just the thought of another young life being affected by the cruelty of medical concerns.

"Twenty-one," she whispered, shaking her head back and forth. "She needs an ECHO, scheduled for one in about ten minutes, which means she's all yours, honey."

"I'm on it," I said, taking the chart from Bree and glancing over some of the patient's basic information. Her name was Alice Brandon and she was in room 315. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine her, a game I played with all of my new patients. I pictured honey golden hair that flowed down over her petite shoulders, lying like a blanket across her back. I pictured straight, shiny teeth, and full lips that seemed to be automatically set in a smile. She would have the laughter of a child in the body of a woman, with a room full of pink and purple tulips, and maybe a single mother beside her bed. She'd love reading "Where the Wild Things Are," a book she used to have memorized as a child and she'd get a kick out of the cheesy love stories on a local station's daytime Soaps. I opened my eyes and smiled, laughing at myself in my head, realizing my predicated stories were always the farthest from the truth.

I said my goodbyes and walked down the north end of the hall, turning into the wheelchair closet and pulling one out. I opened it up, snapped the foot pedals in place, and pushed it down the corridor, my white Crocs squeaking lightly on the recently waxed floor in sync with my steps. I hummed "Build me up Buttercup" in my head, cursing Bree for planting it there, before turning into the open door of Ms. Brandon's room. I took in the familiar surroundings quickly, the single bed lined with white sheets, the bathroom door to my left, the large open window straight ahead, but it lacked the single mother from my imagination. An Alice far different than what I pictured was sitting at the small guest table, writing in a notebook with what appeared to be a textbook spread out before her. She turned in her seat when she heard my squeaky entrance, her familiar dark blue eyes meeting mine as her short, spiky dark hair framed her petite features. It was the college girl from the coffee shop. My mouth dropped and my eyes widened.

"Hello, Ms. Brandon," I said, forcing myself to speak. I couldn't believe that it was her, the reason for her absence that morning suddenly explained. "I'm Bella, a hospital volunteer, how are you feeling?"

I smiled at her genuinely, hoping to put her at ease as I walked further into her room, careful to keep a comfortable distance between us.

"Hey, Bella," she said, sighing in relief and returning my smile. She looked tired, her beautiful eyes corrupted with dark purple circles. "Please call me Alice. I'm so grateful to have a normal person here for once, you have no idea. I was starting to get tired of hearing all the medical mumbo jumbo."

She stood up in her seat, took two steps forward like she was going to try and shake my hand or maybe even give me hug, but before she could go any farther, she gasped and her faced paled. I watched in horror as her legs gave out and she fell back into her seat, panting for air and fatigued. "Dammit," she cursed, tears instantly filling her eyes as she brought her face into her hands. "I can't even move anymore," she choked, her speech muffled.

"Hey now," I said, crossing the distance between us and kneeling down in front of her, putting my arms around her, pulling her into a hug. The hospital usually had a strong "no affection" policy, but I found myself breaking it often. Sometimes people just needed hugs and it was ridiculous that today's society turned them into a sexual act, rather than focusing on the true comfort and solace they could provide. My hands were rubbing soothingly up and down her spine as I felt her bury her face into my scrub shirt, shaking against me with silent sobs. My heart was breaking for her, my throat thick as I tried to force myself to swallow the lump that was forming at its base. I knew exactly how she felt, experienced the same immediate fatigue that tied her down when she just wanted to run free. In that moment, I felt something between us, a strange connection that I couldn't entirely explain. I felt like she needed me, like I was somehow meant to step into her room when I did. Maybe that's why I did my next course of action. Maybe that would explain why I suddenly felt the need to open up to her and let her know that she wasn't alone. Maybe that's why I felt the need to even us out, provide her with my breakdown just like she presented me with hers.

I pulled back, smiled into her teary eyes, as I wiped away some of my own. "I know this sounds cliché," I began, as I stood to my feet and took a seat across from her. She looked a little embarrassed by her outburst, reaching for a tissue and wiping at her puffy eyes. "But, I know how you feel."

That was the first time I opened up to an outsider about my diagnosis. By the time she made it to her ECHO, she was twenty minutes late and she knew my entire medical history, both of us laughing about my squeaking steps on the waxed hospital floor. I knew she was the perfect #2 for my list, even if I had already broken one of my rules.

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter is Edward and Bella's "quasi" date if I ever get around to writing it, sheesh. **

**Talk about spreading my plate too thin.**

**Coming down with a little Jacob Black fever today?**

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**Head over to read about the Sort of Beautiful Challenge and start working on your entry!**

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**Also, if you haven't done so already (what the hell are you waiting for?) go check out "What's Lust Got to do With it?" by my hubby is no edward. Be prepared to die from the UST!**


	6. Tulips and a Sunshine Kind of Day

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No Copyright infringement intendend**

**A/N: I could give you countless excuses as to why this story hasn't been updated. **

**Instead, I'll just say I'm truly sorry and that I thank you. Sincerely. **

**Thank you for sticking with it, with me, and with my dream of a storyline.**

**Finally, Thank you to my beta and lover-friend, my hubby is no Edward. **

**You're the best friend I could ask for and my heart is yours, these characters dedicated to you for your constant encouragement.**

**

* * *

  
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**Chapter 5: Tulips and a Sunshine Kind of Day  
**

There was a lot to say about the serenity of waking up to a new day. It was almost as though the moment my head lifted off the pillow, the shadow of my dreams pushing their way out of consciousness, I felt as though my life was new and anything was possible. It was almost as though I could be anybody I wanted to be…to be able to fall in love, to learn to swim, to grow old with another. It could be new day, a new start, a clean slate.

_Except, it never was._

_It never could._

Eventually the truth would sink in, my false strength taking over to get me through. It was in those moments—the earliest hours of the morning—that I reached both my highest and my weakest. I was ashamed of the person I became in those darkest minutes, feeling sorry for myself when I had so much to be thankful for instead. They were wasted, used, and abused, each second precious, undeserving of being thrown away for egotism.

Ultimately, I would sigh, push my pessimistic attitudes aside, and climb out of bed to start another calendar day, on the calendar year that could potentially be my last.

* * *

The sun was rising, the birds chirped, and the chilled morning air whirled around me as I stood next to my mailbox, flipping through the endless envelopes of my mail.

Sue waved at me, already outside in her garden, and I nodded my head and smiled before turning to head back into my house. Sophie greeted me as though I had been gone for an entire week as I bent down and scratched her back, laughing in response to her enthusiasm.

"Yeah, yeah, I missed you, too," I said to her absent-mindedly as I bent down to scratch her soft belly.

It _was_ a typical morning with the typical routine, and yet there was absolutely nothing typical about this particular day.

My stomach was in knots and my head was spinning with questions, every part of me overflowing with nervous energy. I was not in my comfort zone, at my coffee shop watching for someone interesting to walk through the front door, and I was not all alone with nothing on my agenda. Instead, I was going to be spending the morning with a man.

A man named Edward Cullen.

I wasn't quite sure what to expect, what to do or what to say, but I knew this was my only chance at accomplishing the one thing that was most important to me in this world. I knew what I had to do; I just didn't know how to do it. Isn't that how it always worked?

I sighed as I came out of my inner contemplations, standing up straight, stretching my sore legs before walking down the short hallway and into the kitchen to throw the bundle of mail on my table. I looked adjacently to the counter where the small, black coffee pot sat dutifully untouched, abandoned and ignored since the day I moved in. I briefly entertained the idea of making my own morning cup before I remembered I didn't have anything to brew.

My attention was stolen away from Mr. Coffee by a faint knock at the front door that sent Sophie off on her usual barking tangent, her feet clicking against the hardwood foyer as she pranced around waiting for me to answer to the guest.

I smiled to myself, walking back the path I just came and grabbed onto Sophie's collar before swinging the front door open, already knowing who would be waiting on the other side.

Edward stood straight, a small bouquet of tulips in his right hand, a half- smile on his face that spoke of uncertainly and slight embarrassment. My eyes scanned over him briefly, realizing that I probably wouldn't have recognized him in his current state had I not been expecting his arrival. His worn jeans—purposely purchased that way, I suspected—and his navy blue zippered hoodie made him appear almost normal, approachable, not as intimidating as he did while in his business executive environment. Eventually, I realized I was staring so I slowly averted my eyes and focused in on the orange flowers being outstretched by his slender fingers.

"For you," he said, though it sounded more like a question.

That's when I saw her. Sue was staring at us from across the street, quickly turning the moment my eyes trailed in her direction, trying to appear as though she was clueless.

I smiled and shook my head.

"Really, Edward, you shouldn't have," I said jokingly through a light laugh, taking the flowers and instinctively smelling them. He simply shrugged and reached around with his left hand to awkwardly scratch the back of his neck.

He seemed a little bit nervous which piqued my curiosity. I stepped aside and motioned for him to walk inside. "Please, come in," I said as friendly as possible, hoping to put him at ease.

He walked inside, me following and closing the door behind us as I released a rambunctious Sophie. She descended upon him, jumping and licking, tail wagging at a rapid pace as it made a rhythmic thumping against the narrow foyer wall.

"So I see you already had the pleasure of meeting my neighbor," I said, grabbing Sophie's collar and shouting at her to stay down.

"You caught that, huh?" he replied, his smile lighting up the sharp curves of his face. "You can let her go, she's fine," he added, gesturing toward Sophie as he squatted down to pet her.

I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms in front of my chest as I watched him animatedly interact with my only companion. "Sue means well, but sometimes she can stick her nose where it doesn't belong," I said. "I hope she didn't give you too hard of a time."

"Nah," he said, standing up to face me again. "She just threatened to castrate me if I ever hurt you."

I could feel my mouth fly open in shock, but I had no control over it, my eyes widening in terror. "She said…what?"

His strong laughter echoed between the slender walls. "Okay, okay, relax. I'm just messing with you. She didn't say that…not _exactly_."

"Okay, I really don't even want to know," I said, holding up my hands in surrender, a slight smile spreading across my lips at just the thought of Sue speaking to Edward.

Our laughter slowly faded, our smiles retreating as a beat of awkward silence extended briefly between us and I tried to look at everything else in the foyer but him.

"So, the picture?" he asked suddenly, my eyes instantly shooting back up to his.

"Oh, yes, right. Let me just get these tulips in some water and then we'll get started. Feel free to make yourself at home," I said as I turned from him and walked back down the hall to the kitchen. I was vaguely aware of his presence behind me as he followed my footsteps. Once inside the kitchen, I bent down beneath the sink, the familiar ache in my legs protesting my choice of movement. I fumbled around until I found an old vase, one that belonged to my grandmother, before filling it with water and placing the flowers inside.

I worked in silence but I could feel Edward's presence, could sense that his eyes were intently watching my every move. When I turned away from the sink, facing in his direction again, I noticed that he was comfortably leaning against the inside of the archway. His brow was slightly furrowed, a confounded expression lighting up his features.

"Um, what is it?" I asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his furtive stare, looking down to examine my appearance.

"Oh, nothing…" he replied, seemingly snapping out of his inner turmoil, pulling his eyes from me as he uncrossed his arms and feigned indifference. "I just can't figure you out."

I smirked and pushed aside my unease, willing myself not to let this man make me feel so out of character. He may be intimidating on the outside, but I knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

"I'm not sure what you mean by that," I replied, finishing my previous path to the kitchen table to set the vase down in the center. At this point, Sophie had already worked her way up against Edward's leg, leaning against him, content with her new find of a friend.

He stood up straight, his gaze following my steps. "I mean…you're kind of fascinating to me. I just don't understand your motives. I don't get why you're being so kind to me unless of course there's something you want that you're not telling me about."

"Trust me, I don't want anything from you," I replied a little too quickly.

"Look, I'm serious; if you need a lawyer for something and are just too afraid to ask, just fill me in. I'll see what I can do," he persisted taking a step toward me, forcing Sophie to leave his side.

"I don't need a lawyer."

"Okay then…you don't need a lawyer. So, if you have some sort of crazy crush on me, just…don't okay? I'm a huge asshole, you're not my type, and it would never work out," he explained, nonchalantly. He seemed pretty confident that this was the case which made me want to roll my eyes. I laughed, instead.

"You're right, it would never work out," I agreed, pushing past him with a smirk on my face. I could hear him following me down the hallway again.

"What's so funny about that?" he asked from behind me, his beautiful voice echoing off the narrow walls.

"I realize this might come as a shock to someone like you, but it _is_ possible for a member of the opposite sex to find you unattractive," I said as I reached the front foyer again and searched around in the coat closet for my denim jacket.

"Possible, maybe," he said, gently taking my jacket out of my hands the moment I retrieved it, holding it up in front of me to help put it on. "But, highly unlikely."

His haughty smirk from ear to ear was hard to ignore.

However, I was suddenly shocked into silence by his assumingly out-of-character, gentlemanlike behavior, so I said nothing as I slipped my right arm in the appropriate sleeve first, sensing the heat of his body as he stepped behind me and assisted me with my left arm. I was well aware of every movement he made, his hot breath on the back of my neck as he gingerly lifted the denim onto my shoulders. I inwardly noted that he smelled nice and soothing—like mint, fresh soap, and a sunshine kind of day--and It was in that instant that I realized how pathetic I was considering this was the closest I had come to a member of the opposite sex (without medical credentials) in years. Letting out a quiet breath, I awkwardly thanked him for his kindness, stepping out of his personal-space while grabbing my tote bag, Sophie's leash and flinging open the front door.

"After you, Mr. Cullen."

It was time to get the show on the road.

* * *

When I was little, I can remember my mother and me walking down the quiet sidewalk of the rural street we resided on. Every summer morning, we would walk to the local post office together to get the mail. There was a small store attached to the post office, so my mother would give me a quarter, and with that small silver circle I would buy twenty-five pieces of penny candy. The watermelon slices were my favorite, but sometimes it was hard for me to choose between their sweetness and the bitter taste of the Sour Patch Kids.

An early day in July will always stand out in my mind. It was the day before my seventh birthday. My mother was quieter than usual, lost in her own thoughts with worry lines corrupting her lightly sun-kissed, olive skin. My mother was beautiful, she and I looking nothing alike because I was adopted. Her natural golden hair would reflect off the sun and it had always reminded me of a shampoo commercial, the model strutting around the city, shaking her wavy, perfect tendrils along the length of her slender back, completely oblivious to the stares she was acquiring. That model was my mother through and through, unaware of the appreciative glances, too caught up in her love for my father to notice another member of the opposite sex.

"You went with strawberry gummies today?" she asked me, the first words she had spoken since we began our walk home that day.

"Yeah," I said, sighing, my feet leaping furtively from block to block, careful not to step on any cracks.

_Don't step on a crack, you'll break your mother's back, _my best friend,Jake, had always said. He was the only friend I truly had all through my school-aged years, teaching me everything I ever wanted to know about life and love, about sex and exploration. I had been horrified at his admission, afraid that if I did, in fact, step on a crack, that I would be the cause of my mother's back problems.

"I know strawberries are your favorite," I added to my mom, admitting to the motives behind my decision.

"Oh, Isabella," she said, grinning, shaking her head back in forth in disbelief, her hair bouncing in the tune with the mild breeze. "You're just like your father."

_Which one?_ I thought. _Adoptive or biological?_

"And you know that the sidewalk crack myth is nothing but that…_a myth_…right?" she asked, watching my cautious steps in amusement.

"How can you be sure?" I replied, continuing to avoid the offensive crevices. "It's not really worth the risk."

"Life is about taking risks," she countered, smiling over at me, her skin glowing and reminding me of the shampoo model again. "Without risks, you'll never fully enjoy the benefits."

And here I was, more than fifteen years later, my mother long since passed away, but yet my feet still bounced methodically over the cracks, careful to avoid them as Edward and I walked side by side down the sidewalk of my street. He had a hold of Sophie's leash, insisting that he could handle her and explaining how much he missed walking his own dog that had gone to rest. It was nice getting to spend this time with Edward, getting to see him more for the person that I knew he could be, rather than assuming the role of the rushed business man with no time for life.

"What exactly are you doing?" he asked as he stared at my bouncing movements.

"Oh c'mon, Edward," I said through a smile. "Don't step on a crack or you'll break your mother's back? Does that ring a bell?"

He laughed out loud, shaking his head back and forth in disbelief. "What are you…fifteen?"

"What are you….ninety?" I retorted, dancing over in front of Sophie's path and twirling around while bending down in front of her. "Where would you like to go today, Boo Boo? Want an ice cream cone? You do, don't you?"

I could feel Edward's eyes on me, studying my interactions with my dog, but I didn't really care what he thought about me. I knew I wasn't like most people and I was okay with that. I glanced up at him as he stood waiting for me to move out of the way and shielded my eyes from the sun.

"Boo wants some ice cream, does that sound alright with you?" I asked.

"Assuming Boo is your dog," he replied, "I guess that's fine as long as it doesn't take too long. I'd like to get this picture done."

"Relax, we have all day," I said beaming at him while standing up and pointing to the right. "This way to the ice cream stand, and look at Sophie, she's excited!"

Sure enough, Sophie was prancing around in her spot, tail wagging enthusiastically as it hit Edward in the leg.

"I'm so sorry about your luck," I thought I heard him say under his breath to Sophie as we turned the street corner and headed toward the market. "You deserve to be called something way cooler than Boo."


End file.
